


Misc

by Familiae



Category: Original Work
Genre: Blood and Gore, M/M, Pokemon, Rituals
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-22
Updated: 2020-01-06
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:16:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22136365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Familiae/pseuds/Familiae
Summary: Pokemon AU





	1. Pokebutts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pokemon AU

Ice encased the breloom’s claws, rendering the limb useless. Panting and glowering at her opponent, she hung the frozen limb to her side, trying to ignore the bitter cold that made her muscles twice and shake, and the way the biting ice crept from the claws to her elbow.

The glaceon stood barely ten feet from her—an inaudible snarl on its lips. Chunks of its icy blue fur had been torn away from the force of the breloom’s claws, causing little rivulets of blood to stain her coat. Despite the injuries, the glaceon still stood—tail held high over its body, muscles bunched up and tense, waiting for the trainer’s command.

But neither Ethan nor Noah spoke but a word. Their eyes bounced from each other to their pokemon—determination written on their every feature. To the side, a little munchlax clutched at its face, hiding its eyes from sight, though it would occasionally peak through its fingers only to wail in horror and cover its face once more.

“Bite,” came the cry, and the glaceon launched itself forward, pounding the ground with her paws as it rushed to the breloom, jaws parting in a snarl—

“Counter!” the voice came sudden and desperate, barely allowing the breloom time to react.

Gingerly, she took a step back, her body glowing orange as the attack was activated—

The glaceon leaped forward, stretching its paws before it, much too late to change its mind and cancel the attack.

The breloom lifted her good arm, preparing herself for the blow to come—

A yelp, and the glaceon was launched back. Its dexterity allowed it to catch the blunt of the fall with its paws, but it did not come without a cost. The friction made the ground sting its paw pads, and it took several hasty steps that did nothing to help its balance.

There was a cry of dismay from Noah, and that was enough to knock the glaceon back to its senses. Shaking its head, it leaped back, wary of the breloom’s attack, quick to flinch back whenever the breloom leaned forward.

“Icy Wind!”

“Dodge it!”

The glaceon’s mouth parted to unleash a current of icy air and ice shards. The breloom leaped aside, putting the already-frozen limb behind its body to protect it. The breloom managed to successfully dodge, leaping aside, but as a result the move nearly hit Ethan.

The attack did not cease, sweeping its head in a wide arc, the glaceon continued its assault. The temperature dropped, and Ethan shivered, wary of the glaceon and keeping close to the ground. Desperately, the breloom broke into a jog, running away from Ethan and towards Noah—but she did not move fast enough. The attack made ice glaze over her tail, and soon hit her side, launching her to the ground.

She landed hard on her side with a _thud_ that made her ears ring. Vaguely, she was aware of Ethan yelling something at her, and the glaceon moving, but she could not make out the words.

Breathing heavily, limbs shivering, she pushed herself up. It came too late—the glaceon tackled her side, making her head smack hard against the ground with a dull _thud_. Her vision swam, she struggled to rediscover the ground to rise.

—And then grew aware that there was singing. A sweet melodic tune that immediately put her mind at ease—her limbs felt heavy and she could not bring herself to move. The tune stretched into soft little tweets and chirps that could only be a bird’s. Her eyes closed.

The glaceon swayed on its feet before it, too, thudded to the ground, curling into a tight ball to sleep.

Content with a job well done, the little swablu bounced on the battlefield, over the trainer’s prone bodies, and flew to the snoozing munchlax. Even if no one could appreciate her little victory, she satisfied herself by hopping around—singing to her heart’s content.

\--------------------------

The bird stared down at me through narrowed eyes—its head resting on a mountain of pristine white feathers. As I watched, it cocked its head to the side, eyes narrowing to slits, then it croaked a warning.

“Fluoro,” Izaac’s tone carried a note of warning.

At first, I thought the honchkrow would pounce on me regardless, but after a few breaths, it ruffled its feathers and turned to look away from me—preening its wings with meticulous care.

By my feet, Nomnom shook against me, clutching at my leg and eyeing the bird warily. Heffa—or Fluouroantiblablabla, as was his actual name—stood on its usual perch on a stand just behind Izaac’s shoulder. The bird was quick to react, and even quicker to dive at Izaac’s visitors should they make a single wrong move. Nomnom—a shy, somewhat neurotic, munchlax—was dearly afraid of the avian ever since he had seen him tear someone’s face to ribbons with its claws.

Not that I blamed him—I wasn’t fond of it either. Even before I saw it attack.

“Maybe you’re too busy right now,” I heard myself say, “I’ll drop by later and—”

“Stay,” Izaac did not even look away from his papers, but at the sound of his voice, the honchkrow turned its head towards me, its muscles tense. I didn’t need a pokémon whisperer to figure out what it was thinking of doing.

With little choice but to listen, I settled back on my chair, trying not to meet the bird in the eye. Weren’t there some pokémon that pounced when their gaze was met head-on?

In an attempt to distract myself from my jittery thoughts, I reached down to scratch Nomnom on the head, smoothing back his soft fur, trying to bring him some ease with my touch.

The munchlax pushed his nose against my leg, mumbling into the fabric of my jeans and clutching me tighter. I tried to soothe it with little comforting words, but the shaking did not abate. I wanted to be out of Izaac’s office, and away from the honchkrow’s piercing gaze, but I knew hurrying Izaac would give no results. He’d give me a dismissive reply and order me to sit down.

It did not help that Izaac’s mightyena was currently draped over the doorstep, deep in sleep.

Eventually, after what felt like hours but must have been only a few minutes, Izaac spoke up.

“I’m here to inform you I will need Liam’s services for an unspecified length of time. Normally, I would not even bother to inform you, but your son requested I speak to you directly.”

_Liam_.

My throat tightened, and to my side, Nomnom mumbled more garbled moans into my leg. If he had requested this personally, could it mean this was more dangerous than usual? Could that be possible? The very possibility made my stomach do little flip-flops, and my heartbeat to increase.

“Is he—?”

“He’s with his siblings right now—they’re preparing. They’re short on time so he asked me to fill you in on the details,” his gaze studied me then, dropping to Nomnom, and then back to me, “this will take time,” he warned.

“I understand,” I said, ignoring Nomnom’s look of terror.

\--------------------------

“Raysa, psyshock!”

Quick on her feet, the gardevoir turned on nimble feet, gliding along the surface of the tiles just soon enough to deflect a diving fletchinder with a spiraling blue orb. With a cry, the bird was flung to crash against a wall, narrowly missing Liam as he made his escape. 

The swablu yelped in dismay, ducking to fly for Malin’s face in her hurry to escape. Liam, panting heavily, stopped next to his sister—eyes wide, he looked back to the darkened hallway long enough to catch the sound of snarls and growls.

“Staring won’t stop them,” Ryuu snapped, his hand grasping for Liam’s arm.

The swablu cried again from its perch on Malin’s head, and with a whistle, Malin urged Raysa to follow.

The gardevoir looked reluctant to turn, but the hesitation in her eyes was soon gone once she grasped the urgency of the situation. She followed close behind Liam in her standard gliding steps.

Breaking into a run, the three rushed into an adjacent hallway, ignoring the open stares they gained from investigators and staff as they hurried past door after door, Ryuu on the lead. Somewhere behind them, an alarm started echoing.

They did not stop.

It was not until the hallway opened up to a huge room that they stopped on their tracks, bewildered. Malin spun in place to grasp the entirety of the room—a roofed stadium, complete with seats and a huge green field in the middle. 

“We don’t have time for this,” Malin hissed at her two brothers, who remained silent.

Then a vicious roar ripped through the sound of the blaring alarms. A huge black shadow slipped past, beating the air with jet black wings. The noivern flew past them, then slowly turned, its jaws gaping wide as it prepared an attack.

“Moonblast!” Liam yelped.

The swablu flung itself into the air then, body glowing white before the attack was flung at the incoming noivern, who took it head on with a startled yelp.

“Moonblast!” following her brother’s lead, Malin pointed a frantic finger at the bat pokemon, hoping Raysa was quicker than she was.

Raysa stepped forward, her body shimmering as she prepared to attack—

“_Shit_,” Ryuu hissed.

The noivern’s roar of fury was picked up by a crowd of the starving creatures—all hanging from the roof of the stadium.

Drawing out a pokeball, Ryuu gritted his teeth, “I knew this wouldn’t be easy.”


	2. Bondage and Horses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Horses AU

The hooves crunched against the soft white snow that had accumulated overnight to form hills and crystal clear paths of white where only soft mud and wrinkled brown grass had once stood. The horse’s breath formed little white puffs what spiraled into the air and faded into nothing. My own breath was visible before my eyes.

The snow seemed to swallow every sound around us. Only the occasional snort from the horse could be heard as the mare slowly picked her way forward, head down, ears swiveling atop her head.

The early morning rays of the run were enough to sting against the reflectiveness of the snow. I cast my eyes away, shut them, was grateful for the cloth tied over the mare’s. If this kept up, however, I would be forced to give up. Neither of us were equipped to deal with weather like this.

And just when the thought of turning around, doubling back to the nearest town and seeking shelter in the small dilapidated inn that clung to the edges of the small village like a dying man, we both heard it—

The distant roaring.

Under me, the mare lifted her head, her ears flashed forward. Her breath seemed to stop.

Did we dare—?

Delight snorted in alarm—ears pinched back, nostrils flaring. Alarmed, I craned to look around, but I could see nothing amiss. Overhead, the light of the sun filtered through the leaves of the trees, leaving uneven patches of grass on the ground.

“Girl? What’s wrong?”

Unsurprisingly, she didn’t reply. She paced nervously, throwing her head back, drawing back.

I frowned, unsure of what to do. When I looked about, nothing seemed amiss.

She snorted, kicked at the ground and turned off her own volition. When I tried easing back on the saddle, she trotted forward, and away from where we’d be going.

I tried turning her, a slight pressure on the reigns, and she responded, slowly twisting around a tree to face our original destination.

When I tried going forward, however, she snorted again, lifting her head, stopping her pace and trying to turn.

What the...?

“I don’t see anything,” I huffed, unsure if to take heed of the nervous mare or ignore her protests.

Then I noticed a flash of gold. Delight snorted and drew back, and a golden head peaked from between the trees and glared down at me.

I balked, and soon enough I noticed the jet black stallion just off from the mare, eyes fixed on us.

You had to be kidding me—what were those two crazy horses doing out here?

Without a sound, Sickle drew closer, only stopping once he stood besides Teke, and reaching over to nibble her mane.

Teke still stared at us.

Delight snorted again, tail lashing, and wisely, turning away from the two horses. I had to notice neither was wearing saddle or bridle, which meant Sickle had hopped the fence once more.

\--------------------------

When Markus walked up to Cyclone’s stall, what he expected was to find the horse there, eager and rambunctious as he always was, practically tearing the door down in his excitement to get to Markus.

What Markus found was that Cyclone was most definitely not in his stall.

Confusion gnawed at him, and he pushed himself to his toes, pressing himself up to peer within the stall only to see a mound of undisturbed hay. He delayed, not dreading to think of anything except his need to find the troublesome horse, turning his head this way and that. When the horse did not crawl up from within the hay, Markus’ heart tightened in his chest and his breathing quickened. A thousand senseless possibilities fluttered through his mind—did someone steal the horse? Both his sire and his dam were prized and irreplaceable, after all, and there would be no getting near either. Had Cyclone wandered off? Could he have somehow escaped a closed stall? Had Markus forgotten to take him away from the pasture—but if not, someone would have told him—but, no. None made sense. What could have happened then?

Markus bounced back on his heels, feeling his breath _whoosh_ from his lungs. He looked about himself like a lost pup—the scent of horses and hay, the sound of snorting and breathing, all of that mingling with his bewildered feelings and drawing out a big pile of nothing. 

The sound of hooves registered on his brain, followed by a little _whoop_ that made him turn his head in the direction of the sound to look.

A bay horse, eyes wide and alarmed, trotted towards Markus. It curved and spun in place as it ran, typical behavior of what could only be his favorite little colt. From its back, splayed, knees stuck to the horse’s sides, and arms wrapped around the horse’s neck, was a familiar grinning face with stupidly cheerful eyes that could only belong to—

“Xavier, what the—?”

But Markus was destined to never finish that question. The words barely out of his mouth, and the horse’s ears pricked up. He hurried his steps, nearly breaking into an outright gallop as he spun and twisted in Markus’ general direction. With a yelp, Markus threw himself aside to let Cyclone thunder past.

“Yippee!” Xavier squeaked from the horse’s back.

The clopping of hooves stopped abruptly, and Markus groaned internally from his spot on the floor. He struggled to pull himself up, but his side ached from the fall, and his thoughts were sluggish and dazed.

He heard what he thought was Cyclone snorting—Markus could practically see him, buzzing with excitement, looking about for where Markus went and preparing for his second attack. He was doomed.

With little choice, he gingerly dragged himself to his feet, using the wall for support and preparing for the worst. The horse started moving, swift and sure-footed, with the stupid angel clutched to his back as if the horse was some bucking bull instead of a psychotic yet well-meaning ride. He headed for Markus as he always did, avoiding straight lines as if they were his death, and nearly running into the walls of the stable in his haste. Markus flinched away at the horse thrust his snout forward, but it was all for naught. In the way that was always custom, Cyclone, head and tail carried high, started circling Markus, spinning around in veering, tight circles and effectively capturing Markus in his trap.

Just like that, Markus’ energy left him. He sighed heavily as Xavier peered at him—an amused grin on his face. He knew eventually Cyclone would tire, but he had the sneaking suspicion this would either end with Xavier falling off the horse or Markus himself falling asleep on his feet.

\--------------------------

My first thought was: _damn, that’s a fine horse._

Very soon, however, it was followed by: _oh shit, that thing is psycho._

The stallion was black as sin, with a shiny glossy coat that’d cause hair shampoo models to twitch in envy. His pace was smooth, moving with an easy grace that befitted such an exemplary Arab. However, in that same heartbeat that I felt my eyes widen in admiration, the stallion yanked against his reins, then proceeded to try to whip around to and kick back at his handler.

The poor sod managed to dodge the kick by seconds, but the result was that his ass landed firmly on the ground, covered in the dust the stallion managed to kick up.

He trotted off, ignoring the cries of dismay in his wake, and weaved his way towards where Izaac stood. Inclining his head just the slightest. Izaac smiled, bemused, and then proceeded to pet the damn thing like it hadn’t just tried to break someone’s ribs.

_Good puppy psycho horse_, he seemed to say to it, _you did a good thing._

Maybe Izaac could see the attraction of homicidal horses, but I certainly couldn’t.

I turned my attention away from Izaac and the murderous horse, and back to the fallen handler. He stood now, clutching at his lower back, but I knew he meant to clutch at his ass instead. I started moving towards him—knowing I might as well offer to rub his ass or something to that degree, when I heard Izaac calling for me.

Curious and confused, I turned. He gestured towards me, and me, being the idiot I was, automatically steered away from the wounded and went to Izaac. Of course, halfway through I realized just how much of an idiot I was being, and automatically slowed my pace, shooting the stallion wary glances. Both Izaac and it seemed unperturbed however. The stallion butted Izaac’s hand whenever he neglected to pet it, and again, I was thinking of homicidal puppy horses.

“It seems our little friend misses Apep,” Izaac said without even a _good morning, Markus_, “and that one is incompetent, so can you take care of it?”

He was talking about the psychotic stallion.

He was talking about me leading the psychotic stallion farther than a single footstep.

_Ha._

“No.”

He frowned at me, and before I could walk away, he was pulling at my hand. Faster than I could protest—or even blink really—he had actually _tied_ my wrist to the stallion’s reins. I tried to open my mouth to whine, but the look he shot me made all words wither and die in my throat.

“I have to tend to Teke,” he said, almost gleefully, “so I’m afraid you don’t have much of a choice.”

And with that, he petted the stallion one last time, whirled around and walked away.

Before the stallion could realize I was easy prey—tied to him as I was—I tried yanking at the knot, digging my fingers into the bumps and curls before I realized it was useless.

Izaac had entirely too much practice with bondage.

And maybe then I tried hissing something rather pointed and rude at his back, but I’m afraid, whatever effect I wanted to achieve was very obviously lost. Izaac didn’t even slow his footsteps, simply waved me off, and continued on his merry way.

I swear he was practically skipping with joy.

So with little choice than to face my doom, I turned my attention back to the stallion. He wasn’t really doing much—watching Izaac’s retreating back. Being a horse. I supposed that occupied enough space in his cranium for me not to be of much importance. Altogether, it’d be the perfect chance to sneak away if I wasn’t tied in a death knot to him.

I stood there, not daring to even breathe, hopelessly lost on what I was supposed to do. I would most likely die after this day, and all I’d have to say as my last words, would be a very little hint towards the identity of my killer. 

_He’s ridiculously good at bondage._

Seriously, though, who could tie a death knot in seconds using a horse’s reins?

Eventually, Death Stallion interrupted my thoughts by finally turning to look at me—and was that just me or was there evil intent sparkling behind those horsey eyes of his? Was he measuring me up against his hooves? Garnering how much he’d have to lift his legs to bash my skull in?

He snorted, and kicked the ground, impatient.

Yup, certainly was.

“OK,” I said out loud, more to interrupt the sexual tension between that horse’s glares and my poor tied wrist than because I hoped the stallion would take mercy on me, “we’re getting Apep, and when we get there, he’s cutting this off and I’m running home and crying.”

The horse’s ears pricked up at the sound of my voice, which I took to be encouraging enough. At least he was listening to my last words.

“A lot,” I said with a nod.

He seemed to like that because he wasn’t trying to bite my nose off yet.

“Well, c’mon, then,” and with that I tried to gently lead him away, urging him along, and trying to sound cheery—like being tied to stallions was something I enjoyed as much as breathing or not being trampled to death. He seemed to like that too—because he followed me without doing anything worse than suddenly trying to lead _me_ instead. But, somehow, with stallion playing handler, I managed to get him away from the field, and lead him around the stables—and that’s when I realized that I had no idea where Apep was. Usually, he was just by Izaac’s side or not far off—but he was obviously _not_ with Izaac then.

Perfect.

And if I yelled, I’d most certainly incur the stallion’s wrath. And I didn’t have a cell phone with me—not that I had Apep’s number anyway, but it would have been a happy thought that I could be able to call my own ambulance should something go amiss.

Then _he_ descended from the heavens—my perfect angel with an ass envied by all gods, old and new, and he proclaimed with that same angelic voice—

“Markus, what the _fuck_ are you doing with that psychotic beast!”

Foul-spoken angel, this one.

“Izaac,” I hissed, pointing at my wrist where the stallion’s reins had been firmly knotted. Then, “I need to find Apep.”

Jo had been jogging towards me, but when he heard the name of my aggravator, he frowned, slowing down until he stood perfectly still.

“I didn’t know Izaac disliked you this much,” his voice was full of wonder—as if he had never seen Izaac wish death on someone before.

“I don’t think it’s that,” why was I defending him? “Psycho hasn’t tried eating me yet anyway,” by which I meant the horse, of course.

“I wouldn’t press my luck—I just passed Apep, I think. He was molesting Delight—which is why I thought to come get you...”

That _fiend_.

One had to enjoy the irony, however, that my guardian angel had come to me because of his fiendish actions towards my poor sappy Delight. That poor thing was most likely trying to weave around to kick him as we spoke—not that she ever did. I was starting to think Apep was like some fiendish horse whisperer—after all, _this thing_ was his stallion.

“Let’s go then,” I prompted, waggling my wrist so Jo got the message. He nodded, and turned away to walk in what was presumably Apep’s direction, and I turned to follow. I was surprised when the stallion followed me without complaint.

Right enough, Apep stood before Delight in the pasture, leaning over the fence. Babbling to her a mile a minute while the poor thing looked almost tortured. She pulled her head away and snorted, but it was all to no avail. Apep was somehow always hovering over her face like an ever-present annoying fly, and she seemed to slowly resign herself to her fate as we watched.

“Hey!” Jo called, but Apep seemed to ignore him. Instead pinning a lock of Delight’s hair between his hands, and rubbing at it until it stood on end. “A_pep_,” Jo was clearly more desperate than I was be rid of the stallion.

At that, Apep finally turned, looking amused when he caught sight of his stallion and what it was tethered to—namely, myself.

“Why,” he said cheerfully, “I didn’t realize you were trying to steal my horse.”

“No,” and I shoved my tied wrist at him, “your husband’s work,” I hissed, “now take the damn thing.”

He took his jolly good time, climbing down from the fence and dropping to his feet in front of us. Even then, he refused to look at my wrist, but instead at the stallion, cooing at it, and petting it. _Good psycho horse puppy_ he seemed to say. For his part, the stallion seemed delighted, he butted his head against Apep’s hand, and nickered softly at him.

“Did Markus treat my little Sickle right?” the question was directed at the stallion.

_Sickle._

Of course one would be named after the ghost and the other after the ghost’s murder weapon. Why would I expect any different?

Finally, he turned to face me, still smiling that infuriating mischievous smile of his. “Now did said husband have his wicked way with you, or are we still as pure as freshly fallen snow?”

Jo made a noise in the back of his throat like a dying whale and I resisted the urge to elbow him.

I ignored the bait, and instead thrust my wrist in his face. Apep frowned at my apparent rudeness, but did not speak. Instead, he grabbed my wrist, moved it a bit farther away from his face and then prodded my wrist a bit and—

I’m free!

—These two are into some really kinky shit.

“How?” I heard myself ask, though I really did not want to know the answer.

He ruffled my hair with a chuckle, “I can show you—just tell me when.”

The smile he flashed me was positively wicked.

“Uh, never mind.”

He pouted at me, but before I could come up with a coherent answer, Jo was there, his fingers tight around my wrist, and sharply tugging me away, muttering things under his breath about where Apep could shove his offers that nearly had me giggling. I wanted to say something about how Apep would probably enjoy that, but he gave me no room to protest.

Apep looked unperturbed as he waved us off, all smiles. The stallion behind him watched us leave with unusual attentiveness.

I thought that looked oddly threatening.

\--------------------------

The clicking of the hooves along the road of paved stone and the snorting of the horses was the only sound that reached my ears. Beneath me, Gollum shifted nervously—ears flickering, eyes wide, nostrils flaring. Flicking out its tail impatiently.

I patted the horse’s neck and hoped that would bring him peace, but for the moment, it only seemed to agitate him further. He snorted, turned his head, and seemed to paw at the ground as something caught its attention.

“Shh, shhh, it’s alright boy,” I tried using words when gestures had failed.

His ears flicked back, but otherwise, my attempts elicited no response from the uneasy horse.

“What’s wrong?”

Again, nothing. The horse pawed the ground some more then returned to looking straight ahead. Chewing my lip, eyebrows brought together in a frown, I decided to ignore his protests for the time being. He seemed to be willing to continue the ride at least. I would draw some comfort from that.

With Gollum as impatient as he was, it was no surprise to me that he nearly bolted once we both caught sight of the dark figure of the messenger bird in the sky.

The animal was a curious mix of crow, raven, and hawk. As large as a hawk, with the wings and beak of one but the curious plumage, intelligence, and the perfectly square tail of a blackbird. As it attempted an unsteady landing on a nearby branch, it gave the croak of a crow as well. Beady black eyes fixing on the unsteady horse.

With a click of my tongue, I urged the horse to nose forward, taking careful steps until I was close enough to offer the pesky bird my arm. It gave another croak, then hopped on my forearm. I tried not to flinch as I felt its claws digging into the fabric of the shirt, scratching against the skin underneath.

Carefully, I unrolled the little rectangular piece of paper strapped to its back—the handwriting was slanted and curved, reading:

_How much do you know about dragons?_


	3. Summoning Song

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Demon AU

The sickly sweet scent of blood and cooked meat permeated the room to the point where most would gag. The sacrifice had been made just as so many texts suggested—the ribs had been smashed open to extract the organs within while the young man still lived. There had been sweet fear in his eyes as Apep dug his fingers into the viscera. The boy had gasped in pain, mouth flapping like a fish, fingers grasping at nothing. Apep had made sure to put the organs to his side, burn the worthless ones, keep the ones that would serve him within the body. An ax had taken the young man’s limbs, and the shock had made his consciousness leave him, and his bladder to release its contents.

Messy, but necessary. Apep focused solely on his work, chanting the meaningless jumble of words that would complete his efforts. He was not to be distracted—not even when his muscles started to cramp from the work or when blood and gore coated his clothes and skin. He ignored the feeling of the fabric sticking to his skin, and traced the lines and symbols that would create the much-needed portal.

When it came time for the summoning, he held his breath with unchecked anxiousness. He nearly tripped over his words as the incantation flowed from his lips, but in the end, the words came as smooth as water over rocks. It flowed; the tone rose in pitch and fervor, and then dropped to a mellow song. He did not stop when the boy’s body started to shift, nor when the blood started to pool and take form. He did not allow his concentration to weaken when the candles were suddenly blown out—merely continued as best he could from memory, and grasped blindly in the dark for a source of light. He had kept the matches in his pocket for this very occasion, but it seemed the feeble flame would not hold.

He nearly dropped his match and his book when the candles suddenly regained light, and within the circle he had traced stood a man. He was tall—as tall as Apep himself at the very least, with blond hair, and piercing green eyes. When he looked at Apep, his glare had such hate in it that Apep had to look away or recoil.

He gathered his wits, and turned to the demon with a shy smile, barely able to contain his excitement.

“Remember me?”

The demon frowned but did not speak.

“We met when I was a child...” Apep prompted, eyes bright in the half-light of the room. He turned away from the demon to set down the book by the table, eager to be rid of it and have his hands free to move.

The demon studied Apep then, eyes roaming his form, stopping at the swell of his hips, the muscles of his arms and legs, and finally, the smiling face.

“You said you’d find me,” the demon’s voice was like liquid honey—smooth and deep, and unlike anything Apep had ever heard before in his life. It had a sing-song quality to it, so deliciously divine, the sound so pure that it would have drawn the immediate attention of everyone in the area. It had a hypnotizing quality to it—once heard, you would not hear anything else.

Apep felt a flush creep to his cheeks, and he hastily looked away. The point of his shoe scuffed against the ground, and his right arm tugged at the elbow of the opposite. “I may have paraphrased a little.”

There was something in the demon’s eyes then—a spark. Could it be the demon was impressed? Apep was a man grown now, but when he had first lay eyes on this demon, he had been but a mere child—still pudgy of limbs and face, with innocent eyes and a friendly smile.

“A little,” the demon agreed, eyes still fixed on Apep. “You have made your sacrifice then, what would you want of me?”

“I, ah,” truth be told, Apep had not expected the demon to round around the subject so soon—he had wanted to linger. Nothing would have pleased him more than to enjoy the demon’s company for longer. “Was the sacrifice fitting?”

The demon did not reply for a few heartbeats. He studied Apep through those cold green eyes, most likely unsure and wary of what Apep would intend. “Fitting and to my liking,” his tone of voice was neutral, but his voice—that lovely deep voice—did not suffer because of it, “my lingering will cost you.”

A warning then, but not unplanned for.

“I am willing to pay,” there were other young men—he had researched long and hard to see what a demon of his brood would prefer. There were only a handful of descriptive accounts, but Apep had gathered enough—anything from boys to young men, fit and slim, with dark hair and dark eyes. The body types varied, but it seemed his ilk mostly preferred men, so that was what Apep had struggled to gather.

“You came prepared then,” the demon sounded impressed now, “now what would you have of me?”

Apep tried not to shiver at the sound of that voice, struggling to gather his thoughts. “I tried my best, and I’m sure they’ll be to your liking,” he wanted to be more forward with the demon, but on the other hand, he did not dare. The last thing he wanted was for the demon to take insult. “I want several things,” he admitted, waiting to make sure he had the demon’s full attention before continuing, “your company for one—I desire to have you bound to me.”

The demon did not stir—he continued studying Apep, and when he spoke, his voice was low, “I have terms.”

“I am prepared to meet every one,” the grin crept to his face on its own volition, “all you have to do is name it and you shall have it.”

That seemed to amuse the demon—he tilted his head to the side, a slight smile on his lips. “Souls, sacrifices, I require my own space, and the liberty to do as I please with my food. A contract will need to be signed.”

“I’m prepared,” Apep spoke honestly, taking a step away from the demon, “and you’ll require a name, unless you wish to give me yours.”

“I will not.”

A blunt refusal.

“May I name you then?”

He inclined his head, “If my requirements are met.”

Obvious enough.

Apep drew in a calming breath, trying to steady his hurried thoughts. He wanted to name his own terms, his resources, assure the demon that Apep merely hungered for his company. He had been affixed on this man from the moment he laid his eyes on him, and although, his thoughts spiraled out of his control into more forbidden areas, he would withhold his fantasies to himself if it meant he could spend a day more with this demon. He knew it would cost his life—he knew the demon would ask for his soul, and he’d be devoured once the contract’s end was met, but that only thrilled him more. He _wanted_ this demon to do with him as he pleased. He _wanted_ to make sure the demon enjoyed his company. His death would only be the logical conclusion to such an event. 

There was always the possibility that he wouldn’t be strong enough—that the demon would snap whatever chains Apep managed to weave around him and that he’d tear Apep limb from limb, but even then he couldn’t bring himself to care. He’d be in his company—it’d be his hands touching Apep, his cruel fingers digging into his skin until it tore.

The binding would be dangerous—far more dangerous than the summoning. Without a doubt the demon would try to take the advantage over Apep, and even from where Apep stood, he could feel the demon’s power. He was far stronger than a mere human had any hope to be, but that did not mean he would protest the spell—twist it, turn it to his advantage, but that did not mean Apep would die.

At least, that’s what his hopes rested on.

“Is my company all you wish?”

When Apep looked up, the demon’s eyes were affixed to Apep’s.

“It is,” it was difficult to keep the excitement from his voice, “it’s all I wish for—your company and your voice.”

Silence fell between them, but it did not prove uncomfortable. The demon studied him, and Apep had the delicious sensation of being unrobed with a look. He flashed the demon a coy smile, and to his surprise, the demon answered with one of his own.

“I will sing for you if that is your wish—but in exchange, I want you.”

Apep already had expected as much—a soul that was bound to a demon was far more delectable and desirable than any virgin. And he had kept his body intact from touch save his own for this very moment. He would not hesitate now.

“You may have it.”

“You do not seem to understand,” the words were gentle, “I want you. I want your touch, your breath, your skin, your lips.”

That was direct. Apep felt heat creep to his cheeks, though his smile grew crooked and amused.

“Now?” Never would have anyone called him shy. Inexperienced and clumsy he may be, but not shy.

“Here,” the demon’s voice was husky, his eyes hungry, “let us seal the contract atop the boy you killed for me.”

Apep crept forward; his footsteps only hesitated once the toe of his boots skimmed against the chalk of the circle. If that was broken, the demon would be released, and there would be naught to stop him then.

“You need a name,” Apep told his feet. 

The demon did not stir within the circle—he seemed to want Apep to come out of his own volition. He did not speak up to suggest anything either—not to tell Apep his real name as Apep had hoped.

“Would ‘Izaac’ be fine?”

“If it’s the name my master wishes for me, than I’d be honored to have it.”

Apep lifted his eyes then—to that deep, warm voice, and felt himself step over the circle, trying not to disturb the edges of it.

“Izaac,” he said the name as he placed his palm against Izaac’s cheeks. The demon’s eyes were bright as he met Apep’s eyes, and for an instant, he looked as excited as Apep felt.

“I’ll sing just for you,” Izaac promised, “and right now, I want you to sing for me as well.”


	4. Taste of Salt

The smell of the salt sea clung to Markus’ nose and sunk into his pores. Despite the long months of Indra’s company, he was still not used to waking up, dazed and confused, with half his body under water, and sand in his hair. It always proved disorienting, and for some dreadful seconds, he even panicked, stirring up the waters and waking up Indra as a result. This was one such occasion.

His leg kicked out, and the water splashed across the walls of the cave, a few droplets even landing on his cheeks. It did not take long for Indra’s head to peak from under the water—eyes wide and curious, wet hair plastered to his face.

He did not speak—instead allowing Markus to catch his bearings and calm his breathing. The question only came once he did.

“Are you OK?”

Markus nodded, not trusting his voice to speak up.

“Maybe I should take you back to the ship...”

The thought made Markus smile. Indra did not want him to part—his reluctance was clear from the tension in his jaw and shoulders, but if it meant Markus’ comfort, he’d be willing to sacrifice the little time they spent together.

“Nah—we don’t leave for another few days, anyway,” a yawn broke off his words, and he sat up on the sand, causing undulations on the water, and stretched; only satisfied once his back gave a little _pop_.

Indra gave a crooked smile at that, eyeing the swell of Markus’ muscles, and the smooth skin over them with what looked to be hunger. “Don’t you need breakfast?”

At that, Markus flashed a crooked grin of his own, “I have an idea,” he mumbled, dragging himself off the sandy bank and deeper towards the water, throwing out his arms to curl around the merman’s shoulders. “Think you can drag yourself ashore?”

Indra chuckled, deep and throaty, tail kicking out against the water, writhing against the sand, “Anything for you,” he breathed in Markus’ ear.

His head rested on my lap, eyes half-closed as the tide drew over us, but he did not mind. He wasn’t exactly the type to flinch from the water.

I sat up on the sand, nude and exposed if not for his weight on my legs. As the sun sunk lower over the horizon, I ran my hands through his hair, shaking off the sand and grit from our tousle by the shore. I could feel his lips on my thighs, his breathing tickling my skin, but otherwise, he did not stir.

I felt sore from our tryst, eager for rest, but I could not bring myself to pull away from him. Doing so would mean I’d be back on the unsteady deck of a ship swaying at sea, and although I knew he’d visit and see me, I would not be able to touch him or even talk to him as I was now. So, I swallowed back the aches and melted into the sublime sensation of his warm arms around me.

“You need to go back, don’t you?” his voice was hoarse from, ah, use, and a low murmur.

I smoothed the hair back from his face and smiled down at his sad eyes, “I’m instructed to keep you company.”

There was a flash of annoyance in his eyes then, and he looked away from me, “You can leave if you want.”

I chuckled, cupping his chin to turn those startling sapphire eyes on me, “I know.”

The corners of his lips curled up in a smile, “Can we, ah, go again?”

I flashed a wicked grin, setting my hands to either side to push myself lower against the sand and closer to his reach. “I’ll have some demands...”

He grinned, “And I’d love to meet them all.”

Markus groaned as a hand slid lower over his waist and hips to grab his hardening member. He groaned when the deft fingers started curling around his length, giving it little tugs that sent delicious heat tingling up Markus’ abdomen and flooding his very veins with the sensation. He felt a pair of lips at his collarbone—teeth at his ear, and groaned once more. He felt warm breath tickling the side of his neck, and another hand grasping his chest, fingers pressing against his skin.

When he opened his eyes, he was met with Jo’s amused warm brown eyes. He smiled at Markus—showing off his straight teeth in a way that made Markus’ heart give a squeeze in his chest.

Indra draped his head over Markus’ shoulder; breathing in deeply—it was his hand that was wrapped around Markus.

“Who goes first?” Markus managed to gasp.

Indra pressed against him then, his hardened member against Markus’ back, and Jo did much the same at his side—the smile never left his lips.

“Indra has kept you all for himself these past few days,” a playful pout touched Jo’s lips, “I think it’s my turn now.”

“You were away,” Indra hissed, his tail kicking out against the water.

“Don’t I deserve a warm welcome, then?”

Before the silly protest could carry on, Markus leaned forward, pressing his lips against Jo’s before he managed to speak. Jo, caught by surprise, did not respond to the kiss with the enthusiasm he normally would, but he was eager all the same.

“Can you keep us up?” Markus breathed as soon as he split he kiss.

“It’d be my pleasure,” Indra purred, fingers slipping from Markus’ length to wrap around his chest, leaning his head on the back of Markus’ shoulder.

“Mine,” Jo sang, fingers wrapping around Markus’ arm to tug him forward and away from Indra, “I hope you saved some of that stamina for me.”


	5. Caged

Tick.

  
Tock.

Tick.

Tock.

  
Time trickled by in the senseless place between the between—a cleavage of two places long since forgotten, within one that perhaps never truly existed. Here, in the shadows, something shifts, turning and squirming, hissing and spitting away from the trails of light that trickled within the clock tower. Something of the place made not just time go askew, but the very laws of physics seemed to slowly follow suit—making sound appear as little trickles of line of fading color. Coal grey for a hiss, tan dots of quickly fading color for a small tap, sizzling yellow for the scratch of nails against stone.

It was an empty place by the definition of anyone who would dare venture here. The bones of those brave adventurers that come and then slowly forgotten floated around nonessentially along with the dying shrubbery and little pebbles—defying gravity. Or better yet, existing where there was no gravity.

And its guardian turned and turned in impatient circles, counting down the time, biding its time until it could free itself from its prison. Tugging at chains made of blessed iron and fire and ice. Scratching against the surface of the smooth marble floor that made up its everlasting prison. It would uselessly tug at the chains—mute, facing any potential threat with a quick strike of its thick and heavy tail. The only sounds that would emit from it would be the great jingling of the golden ornaments that decorated the long imp-like ears that sprout from its head and the flat heavy tail that dragged behind it.

And the sound that would always accompany would be the endless ticking of a clock.

  
Tick.

  
Tock.

  
Tick.

Tock.

It was time.

Tick.

  
Tock.

  
Tick.

  
Tock.

It is now free.

The cacophony of the falling rocks mixed with the rising dust and earth of the mudslide brought on by the torrential rains of a tropical monsoon tore open a vertical slit of a cavity on the cliff side. A cavity that barely gathered any notice for a few rainy days. Most that could have noticed it, choosing instead to huddle under the protection of trees or wrap their arms around themselves to abate the cold in caves, nooks, and crannies between the higher levels of the steep mountain that stood in the center of the forest.

For four more days did the rains make its work of wearing about and widening the opening until it stood like a yawning mouth. Raindrops forming a puddle and wearing away at the softened mud wrenched between the rocks that had unbeknown to most, formed a geode. 

It wasn’t until the rains stopped and a timid sunlight reached for the yawning opening that little critters would start peering curiously at the hole the rain had borne into the side of the mountain. But what could possibly be so curious for what all intents and purpose was only a mere crevice?

It was the colors. When the sun rose at just the exact angle over the arching sky, the rays would reach into the crevice and the walls of the opening would be cast a dozen shades of brilliant blue. The initial theory was that the brilliant light was caused by the reflecting of the sun rays upon the little water that still remained in the crevice. It only took a curious critter to stick its head within the opening to confirm it was not so.

The inside of the crevice was covered with dozens of glittering blue gems that bounced the light to and fro until the opening seemed to glow with the color. Agate, lapis lazuli, sapphire, moonstone, apatite, blue topaz, corundum, and aquamarine shimmered in the walls of the crevice—no more than a small slit in the rock’s face with enough room for maybe small animals to wriggle inside.

Most curious of all was the small creature that huddled on the far back of the cave, gazing at the intruder with wide scared eyes that shimmered as brightly as the stones that surrounded it. It was small and delicate, slim—covered in what looked to be shimmering liquid, antlers, the color of soft muddy water. The fluids seemed to have crystallized over its coat, forming the sharp angles of solid structures—like ice or diamonds.

“Who are you?” the curious voice of the intruder inquired.

The delicate canine only quaked in response, eyes wide, seeming almost unable to speak. Any subtle movements from the intruder would make it draw back, flattening itself against the wall, paws clawing desperately at the rock as if another yawning chasm would open to conceal it.

It wasn’t until some other critter suggested the creature within the crevice be lured out with the promise of food or gifts that there finally seemed hope of luring the shy pup into the outside world. 

Promises of grass, acorns, bugs, or water did not seem to appeal to it. Once the various food items would offer, the pup would curiously twitch its nose before, with another wide-eyed glance, returning to nervously pawing at the cave’s floor. The promise of rocks, stone, branches, and bone would only draw a similar response from the beastie. It was only until a bold little kangaroo brought the gift of a bright pink flower that the little pup was finally tempted to step outside, slipping from the narrow crevice to land with a small _thud_ on the muddy ground below.

It blinked dazedly at the bright sunlight, tilting its head upwards to glance at the deep deep blue sky. Inhaling the rich rich forest air into its lungs with the beginnings of a smile tugging at the corners of its mouth. The stones that floated by her side shone a softer shade of blue in the light, lustrous and pale, reminding the critters about her of a—

“Pearl,” one said in wonder, and thus was her name.


	6. Alien Banana

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Space AU

_Markus_

“First timer?”

I tried not to grimace, but from the smile I was flashed in response, I knew I failed in hiding it. I looked away, tried to make my displeasure less evident. His grin only widened in response.

“Aw, that’s OK. Everyone here was in your position once upon a time,” his breath stunk of smoke.

I nodded, hoping that would appease him, but it was obvious that this was now a situation I was very much stuck in. The man made himself comfortable beside me, making a sound on the back of his throat like sandpaper against wood. I tried not to think of what I would do if I had some sandpaper right about now.

“M’first time was on under Conahan—eight exploration. ‘Heard of it?”

“Sure,” in all honesty, I couldn’t care less, but anything to get him off my back.

The man gave an offended sniff—a brilliant way to start out with my new team. Jot down some points for Markus.

Not that at the moment I exactly cared. I turned to look at my boots and tried not to glare at the metallic floors. There were holes poked into the floorboards—making impossibly loud clanging noises whenever someone moved. I knew there was a reason for this, but I could only think that its sole purpose was in giving me a headache. Right, so no looking at the floors for me—wasn’t exactly helping my mood.

I lifted my gaze—across from me were the rest of the team. Twelve in all—everyone shoved in these damn tights masquerading as “protective suits.” I spent a full ten minutes yanking at the fabric this morning, trying to get it to fit in place before I gave up, stomped out of my room, and squeaked my way into line. Now I must say, I should have probably spent ten more, because this was impossible. “Perfect fit” my ass. Maybe if they had taken the measurements when I was fourteen—or maybe the designer never had the _pleasure_ of sitting in their own clothes.

“Markus, chin up.”

I looked up, prepared to glower—

And found myself wishing I’d have stayed sleeping and damn the consequences.

_Anton._

I nodded, looked away. I could tell it did not work at all.

“Someone’s in a mood.”

I grunted.

“Ah, yes, uh-huh. Very interesting. Does your mother know?”

“No, but yours does.”

His responding chortle told me that he wasn’t about to be easily deterred by such lowly comebacks. He sat across from me, splayed on the seat. Blue eyes sparkled with mischief, searching my face for signs of anything he could nag me about. When I remained impassive, he flashed a grin. I started to wonder—if I tried throwing myself off the ship, would people try to stop me or would I actually make it? Maybe if I leaned back a little, I’d actually fall a comfortable spot and fall asleep. Maybe someone would take pity on me and not wake me.

Unlikely but...

“Hey, well, since we’re here, we can be team buddies, eh? You watch my back and I watch yours?”

“No.”

“Short, sweet, and to the point. This is why I like you. We’ll make a good team.”

“No,” _why him of all people?_ I tried asking the floor.

“Don’t worry—I’ve battled away all your die-hard fans, so it’s assured that you’ll have me and only me alone for company.”

The floor didn’t respond, but my boots seemed to glint suspiciously at me. Wonder what they could possibly be thinking?

“I mean, with those eyes, I’m sure you’d glare holes onto any threats before they could even blink.”

_He does more than most people, actually._

I decided I didn’t like my boots. Maybe my gloves would give me better advice. They were smooth and actually fit like, well, a glove. Surely such quality clothing would provide quality advice?

“I’ve always wanted to have a pet grump. I’ve heard they can be quite lovable when they’re grumpy.”

I sighed.

“Oh, good, a response! For a moment I thought you were ignoring me, and I was about to be very hurt,” by his smile, I suspected he was far from offended.

“Wouldn’t want to give you _that_ idea.”

His responding smile was crooked, “Cheer up, Markus. Not everyone has the doc on their side, eh? I’d say I’m quite handy.”

Which was more than what I could say.

\- - -

Briefing had been short and sweet, and just about enough to make me just a bit queasy. Apparently, there were about fifty-seven new colorful ways to die in this “wonderful new planet that is most likely our salvation,” and to prove his point, the dude in charge decided to pass around pictures. Very graphic pictures of insides glistening under the camera’s flash. A good and sure-fire way to cheer us all up. Just before we landed, the same dude, with the same dead animal on his upper lip, decided to give an almost exact replica of the same briefing. I did _not _want to be reminded that eating the wild berries could cause massive internal bleeding or that the predators of the area tended to enjoy keeping their prey alive until the last possible moment, “so if you hear screaming, make sure you’re armed and hurry to rescue your comrade!” especially _before_ we landed.

Across from me, Anton was anxious or nervous—the knuckles of his hand stood up against the skin, and his lips were pressed tightly together. He spared me a glance and offered a half-smile, but otherwise, his eyes did not leave the door.

The ship rocked, I think I felt my stomach go out the window. It shuddered, someone sucked in a quick breath and seemed to mutter a prayer. I wondered if that was truly all that appropriate. 

I looked up—Anton flashed me a grin.

“Ready or not...” he muttered.

“Markus! Markus!”

I flinched at the sound, but carried on—ducking under a too-low branch of a tree and nearly stumbling over my own two feet, but somehow managing to keep myself standing. The forest was gnarled and untamed—that had been clear from the first few steps I had given. Roots and vines crisscrossed everywhere, and it was impossible to walk without becoming tangled. The trees were impossibly tall, trunks thick and rough. The forest’s floor was dark, only a few rays of light reached down to where I was, so it was not surprising to note that the earth was dry, covered in brown leaves. If I had brought a machete, maybe the situation would be different, but as it was, I was forced to walk, stop, untangle, walk, stop, frown, turn around (in some places it was simply impossible, and I was forced to double back and pick another path), and then hear Anton’s displeasing voice.

“Markus! Sto-_o_-op!”

I stopped, trying to pin-point from where his voice came from. He was still far away, but definitely getting closer, if I didn’t keep moving he would catch up, and I wasn’t looking forward to his little pep-talk.

But the vines were too thick here. They clung from the trunks of the trees as if their life depended on it, and the result was something akin to a spider’s web. I had tried forcing them apart, but these were healthy plants, untouched by any invasive hands for hundreds of years—if the rumors were to be believed. They weren’t about to come undone any time soon. All my yanking and pulling had only helped in making my hands ache; the fingers turn red and splotchy from the lack of circulation. My first try at doubling back proved ineffective. Everywhere they were too tangled, and I was running out of options.

I tried circling the wall of vines, trying to keep my steps as quiet and deliberate as possible. Too late to wish I had brought some breadcrumbs with me. There was no way I was getting back to camp if I got lost here, yet...

A branch had fallen a few feet away—broken dried pieces of vines and dry leaves and moss still clung to it, but it had still done its job. On its fall it had cleaved a section of the vine wall clean through, and if I could step around it, I’d be free. Excited now, I hurried my footsteps towards it, flinching only when I felt a thick drop of cold water hit me on the head. I looked up and frowned, suddenly suspicious of rain. Not that I could see the sky from where I stood.

The humidity of the forest seemed to stick to everything. Move a single vine or branch and water droplets fell upon the thousands over my head. I was already wet from head to foot, so, of course, luck would have it that I would tangle my foot on a vine after carefully picking my way through and around the fallen branch, and fall flat on my face to a mouthful of dirt and a back drenched in freezing dew.

I groaned into the dirt, trying think through the sudden haze in my thoughts. Slowly, I lifted my head, a hand moving to wipe at my face, uselessly trying to get rid of the coating of earth that covered my front. I groaned again, trying to push myself up. One thought flashed through my mind: Anton would have a field day if he caught me like this.

And just like that, I was suddenly back on my feet again. I stumbled blindly away, trying to steer clear of any trees. Besides an aching jaw, I think I passed the health inspection. My jaw would most likely bruise, but nothing compared to what would happen if that idiot caught me.

So I yanked, and hurried along. Trying to ignore the voice calling in the distance—and it did grow distant as I walked, so it was safe to assume I hadn’t left a Markus imprint in the ground when I had taken that spill. Once I was sure that I wouldn’t be caught, I slowed my steps (not that I could go much slower).

There was one thing I needed: to clean the dirt off. Somehow, I doubted there would be hot showers in the middle of this jungle.

And what the hell was that trickling sound?

_Oh._

Well, now I felt like an idiot: a creek. I wouldn’t be able to wash _all_ of the dirt off, but surely enough so it could pass by as “normal quantity of dirt one would accumulate upon a trek in the jungles.” Well, maybe not. But I might fool someone.

I stopped walking, tilting my head and looking like a moron as I tried to pin-point the source of the sound. I walked in a loose circle before I picked a direction—thankfully, away from Anton. The path was still a pain in the ass to walk through, but at least I only had to double back two or three times before I finally reached the source of the sound.

And then I felt like an idiot again, because this, sure as hell, was no _creek._

As abruptly as the trees thickened, they started to grow sparse, the distance growing between them, and the vines growing looser until they were almost gone, then both trees and vines were gone altogether. The forest stopped abruptly, and the first thing I noticed was that it was bright and sunny. The light bounced off the water and then proceeded to blind me—excuse me, _dazzle me_ with its brilliance. Little green bushes and grass poked from the earth now, and the river roared past in all its _dazzling_ glory.

I had to pause for a considerable amount of time while I drunk in the sight before me.

I had to admit, it was kind of postcard-perfect. Little yellow flowers by the banks, rocks wet and shiny with water, grass glittering with dew. I also had to admit I had never seen a river with such clear and clean waters before. The water was practically crystalline—it made me wonder is that’s where the “looking at your own reflection” jig in movies came from. 

Cautiously, I stepped forward, nearing the edge of the bank, and looking up and down it for an idea of where I could get near the water. I decided to go upriver, and paced by the bank, searching for that ideal spot. I was unsurprised to note a little yellow butterfly fluttering past. It almost gave me the urge to break into song as little forest animals undressed me.

But before I could bring my fantasy to life, I found a spot where the earth dipped gracefully towards the river, creating a firm, if muddy bank where debris of leaves and trunks accumulated briefly before the currents of the river washed them away. Cautious once more, I picked my way towards it, getting on hands and knees for fear of slipping and falling into the waters. Now that the river stood this close, I was suddenly recalling that I wasn’t very fond of deep waters. Guess the light had fried some brain circuits back there.

I sat on my haunches by the water, scooping up a little in my cupped hands, and eyeing the currents suspiciously (could flash floods be a possibility right now? It _was_ bright and sunny). Quickly now, I threw the water over my face, then sunk my hands into the river once more to wash off the clinging dirt.

I rubbed the dirt off my face, making sure to clean behind the ears before I washed it off my hands. How exactly I would get it off my clothes was a mystery, but I would come up with something... I mean, if a man strips naked in the forest and there was no one around to see him, was he really naked? A good thing to ponder. But first—I needed a drink.

And it was as I scooped the water and brought it to my lips that I heard something. A whimper? Similar to the sound an animal would make if it got kicked in the ribs. I looked around, startled, and I caught something in my peripheral vision. I turned my head towards it again, and—

Was that a _hand?_

Stuck between the trunk of the tree was a slim pale human hand. It was limp, and the arm connected to it sunk into the water—

And there was a head bobbing in the water, eyes closed. The person clearly unconscious. Or dead. I still wasn’t quite sure.

It was only when I saw the eyelids fluttering that the gravity of the situation finally clicked in. I splashed into the shallows of the river, fear of drowning be damned, and picked my way as hastily as I could towards the body. It didn’t move when I finally got to it, but I wasn’t exactly thinking. I dropped to my knees besides it, wrapping my arm around its torso to pull it up, reaching over to gently disentangle the arm from the branch. I dragged the body (and, _boy_ was it heavy) towards the bank, nearly tripping as I reached it. I tried to gently lay it down on the ground, and carefully flipped it on its back, trying to lift the head up for oxygen.

_Fuck_, had I paid attention to CPR?

Oh, wait, no. Apparently I didn’t need to, its eyelids fluttered open, and wracking coughs broke from his throat, spitting out water by my knees. I tried not to think on what that could mean.

That’s also when I noticed that he was completely naked.

His fingers dug into the earth and he lifted his head. Brilliant sapphire eyes blinked, and he shook his head, breaking into coughs once more. After a few shaky breaths, he pushed himself up to his elbows, still blinking, and then his eyes fixed on me.

“You OK?”

He blinked and broke into more coughs. I waited until the coughing ceased, watching him spit even more water by my feet, then waited for him to settle back down. He didn’t speak a word.

“Hey, _hey_,” his eyes drifted over me, I started to worry he was going to pass out, “listen—can you hear me?”

His eyes fixed on me then, roaming over my face for what felt like an eternity. Was he deaf? Maybe I accidentally knocked him on the head? When I started to think he might be seriously hurt, he nodded once. The relief that flooded through me then knew no words.

“My camp’s nearby,” I was hasty in my explanation, trying to sound like I knew where I was, “there’s a doctor there. Can you walk?”

I don’t know if he heard me, but he was suddenly pushing himself up, dragging his legs out of the water. I tried not to stare at his obviously naked self, but I was in a bit of an awkward situation. I must say though, he was rather fit for someone who just took a naked dip in the river. He gave a sharp inhale, and I was suddenly back on alert. I looked down at his legs, and that’s when I noticed the blood—the awkward angle his leg was twisted at, the way the foot was completely limp.

“Shit.”

He looked up, looking like a sad, sad hurt puppy. I tried not to dwell on it.

“Hold on, don’t move, I’ll go get help.”

He looked up at me with those brilliant sad puppy-dog eyes. I tried to place something even remotely similar to a comforting smile on my face. “Try to keep awake, OK?”

He nodded.

I scrambled out of the bank, cutting my hand on a sharp rock as I did so. I ignored it and stumbled to my feet in the shiny grass. I wasn’t exactly sure what would it accomplish, but I lifted my face, put my hands around my mouth to amplify the sound and—

“Anton!”

I still can’t believe I started calling him.

\--------------------------

The world reeled around me. My steps failed, my heart thumped heavily against my chest, my breath rasped in my throat. It seemed like there was not enough oxygen—like something was squeezing it out bit by excruciating bit. My steps faltered again, and with a yip, my leg tangled against a root and I fell over my head. I landed heavily on my side, the breath whooshing out of my lungs, my skull cracking against the ground. For a moment, my mind was empty of all thoughts. It throbbed, pulsed.

I wanted to _rest_. To lie down. To forget it all. In that one moment, I was tempted to. _Give up_. I couldn’t—not anymore.

Then I heard it.

“Over there!”

The sound of voices. The unmistakable sound of a bullet being loaded. Weapons ready to fire.

A single thought buzzed in my head: _move_.

Somehow, I stumbled on all four, and scrambled the rest of the way. I don’t know how, but I found the strength to push forward, trying to build up my speed to a run. The voices echoed behind me again, and I tried hurrying my pace, paws beating against the hard ground, trying not to become tangled again, trying to escape.

They had a disadvantage, of course—they, theoretically, weren’t built for running like I was. Two legs weren’t exactly the best for this type of activity. I knew that if I could maintain my speed for long enough, I would lose them.

Of course, there was one single little problem.

The terrain.

“Terrain is everything. It can upturn the battle in your favor or against it,” they would say. Or something of the sort. I never paid much attention. But I got the general sentiment.

It was rather hard to maintain speed when you were running in the middle of a jungle.

I could buzz and wind around the trees, sure. But I wasn’t used to jungles. I was used to the smooth and fuzzy carpets of my home—the long flat fields of terrain where a little pup could run as he pleased. I had underestimated my capturers—and the terrain. A rock stuck between my toes was nothing like a vine tangled around my legs. The rock I could shake off—the vines? Not so much.

And thus, my current predicament.

I turned over a tree, digging my paws into the earth to stop abruptly, then turned sharply to my right, curling around the tree, and heading roughly to the direction of my pursuers. Bullets whizzed past my ear and hit the bark of the trees around me, but I somehow managed to avoid them. I turned again—this time away from them, panting hard now. I heard more of their yells, but could not make out the words—I sped away. More bullets—all went wide, but the sound still startled me. I ducked my head and flinched instinctively, nearly stumbling over my paws.

More yells, more bullets whizzed past. I gritted my teeth together and tried to breathe through my nose, tried to focus on where I put my paws, but the trees around me melted into nothing, my vision blurred.

And then I slipped.

I tasted mud and fetid water in my mouth, everything spun around me. Something hit me hard on my back. A yelp broke free from my throat. Water rushed over me, getting in my nose, forcing me to pull my head up and away. I tried to stand only to have my paws slip from under me, cracking my head against the ground once more. I gasped like a fish, pushing, trashing, doing anything I could to push myself to my paws once more. 

I blinked, looked around wildly. A creek, one of my paws dipped inside its cold black waters. The earth around me was squishy and soft. I felt my fur sticking up around me with both mud and water. 

I looked up. A dip in the terrain—it seemed erosion, for whatever reason, had eaten up this part of the forest, and in my desperation, I hadn’t noticed. One slip, and I had stumbled down several feet.

Adrenaline made it impossible to feel pain, but I could tell I would feel it in the morning.

I tried stumbling to my paws once more, being careful of where I stepped. My limbs shook with the cold, my teeth chattered. I stepped around, circled. It seemed I was in a tiny level spot of around ten by ten feet. A creek dominated most of the area then dipped into the precipice of what I could presume was a river. I hesitated, then gave a single step towards the edge—

And the sound of something heavy thumping behind me.

“You’ve given us a bit of trouble, little puppy.”

I whipped around, teeth bared, muscles tense.

I was unsurprised to note one of my capturers was there, weapon held on his hands, pointed downwards. I growled and the gun was tilted upwards, pointed towards me.

“I’d be still if I were you.”

My mind buzzed. A single misstep...

I launched myself forward out of sheer desperation—a snarl tearing from my throat. I ducked down from the expected shot and leaped at him. My teeth found the flesh of his arm and I shook my head—the salty metallic taste of blood flooded my mouth, and a sharp yell startled me almost enough to let go.

Almost.

My paws pushed against the muscle of his stomach, and I used that leverage to tear at the arm, pushing and pulling in an attempt to shake him off his feet. The man yelled, protested, tried to yank his arm back, and then I heard the unmistakable sound of a trigger being cocked.

My teeth let go, I tackled him down, trying to throw off his aim. A shot rang out, but if it hit or not, I couldn’t tell.

And then the sensation of free-falling.

Instinctively, I let go only to feel myself slam against the ground, then feel the weight of something falling against me. White hot pain flashed from one of my legs, and I threw my head back to scream—

Only to have water fill my lungs.

I hung there, suspended, trying to wake up. My thoughts blanked—I knew there was water. I knew I had to do something about it—but I was lost. Where was up? Where was down? Why was there all this water?

Then I remembered: the river.

My eyes snapped open, only to see nothing but smog. The water was dark and cloudy. I turned to look up and down, my lungs screaming for oxygen. I tried to kick against the currents only to have dots flash before my eyes, and my body arch in pain. I stopped protesting its currents, felt the water rush around me.

I started to paddle, using my front legs to thrust myself forward, trying to move my back legs as little as possible. It felt impossible—the current, the smog—was I even swimming in the right direction?

Light. My head broke free from under the water and with that I grasped greedy breaths. Black dots obscured my vision, but there was no mistaking the sharp relief in my lungs. I tried to keep up with weak kicks, tried to breathe in enough air. 

The black dots grew—

My legs grew numb.

Then there was nothing but darkness.

\--------------------------

His surroundings were overwhelming—bright, and blinding. The sounds were too loud. He hurt all over.

He opened his eyes only to press them shut once more. His nose drew the smell of something warm and comforting (he remembered this smell), and he turned his head towards it, smothering his face into it.

The fabric was of an odd texture, not cotton, not satin, but something else. It was not soft, and not leathery. It was something in between.

“He’s waking,” the voice sounded far away, as if speaking through a door. Muffled, even. Jo thought they were talking about him.

He shifted again and a soft groan slipped past his lips.

“Yeah,” this voice sounded closer. It was familiar.

It came from the arms holding him; the chest he was leaning into.

He remembered this voice.

“What are you going to do?” the muffled voice. Male, still far-off. He sounded worried. Was that it? Was he worried?

There came no answer, and Jo grew curious. He cracked an eye open, only forced to screw them shut once more when the light came bright and intense. It hurt to breathe.

“Rest,” the warm familiar voice urged, “you’re hurt.”

How?

Jo wanted to ask, but he could not seem to draw the breath to speak. He was weak. He hurt.

The memory of a face floated before his mind’s eye, and he felt himself flinching away.

“No,” he moaned, clutching at the odd fabric, pressing his face against the warm chest.

“It’s not your fault,” muffled, still concerned. It couldn’t be anything else.

“It is, but it makes no matter,” the familiar voice retorted.

With that, Jo felt the world shift and veer beneath him as he was carried off. Vile rose in his throat, he felt himself growing weaker.

\--------------------------

Jo’s eyes were fixed on me as I entered the room, and it took me no time to find out why.

He was naked, laying atop the plush pillows of our pulled-together beds. His tentacles wrapped tightly around his form, wrapping around his erection, and thrusting into his ass.

Once he noticed me standing there, he abruptly stopped, and a sweet little smile appeared on his face.

“Markus!” he sounded immensely pleased as he gazed at me, stretching his arms forward, fingers grasping at the air. His free tentacles moved with the motion, surging forward and wrapping around my limbs, eagerly tugging me forward.

“How was work?” he squeaked, sitting up on the bed, his limbs moving slightly against him.

“Same as always,” I did not struggle his yanks, allowing them to lead me towards the bed, and into Jo’s arms. I had been wanting this the whole day—thinking of Jo, smiling and warm.

When I was over the bed, he gently lifted me towards him, wrapping his arms around me in a hug.

“I missed you,” he whispered, “I’ve been wanting to touch you the whole day.”

I smiled at that, reaching out to gently stroke his long hair. “Me too.”

His pants echoed on my ear—his wet breath tickling my neck. With every thrust, my hips rolled with the motion, and I felt his firm limbs wrapping around my own to hold me in place.

I moaned softly, as his length thrust deeper into me—my fingers desperately grabbing at the sheets and tightening around them. With more of his pleased pants, he pressed his wet nose to my cheek, giving it a single long lick.

“Don’t stop,” I groaned, wanting to feel more of him—his tentacles wrapping around my erect member seemed to acquire more speed, wrapping tighter against me, and his thrust increased in speed, this time my whole body rocked with the motion, and my arms trembled and struggled to keep my torso up. I groaned again, feeling his fur rub against my naked back. When I turned to look over my shoulder, I saw his tail wagging, and his black nose pressing against my cheek.

“Jo—”

\--------------------------

When Markus walked into the warm room, what he did not expect was to see writhing blue and orange fur slashed with the black markings, nor did he expect the slithering tentacles. He could not tell what was going on at a glance, but once Jo turned his head towards him, his limbs stopped moving, and his mouth parted in a pant, tongue lolling out.

Will did much the same, but unlike Jo, he shook himself until droplets flew from his fur. Tails wagging, they both approached him, reaching over to lick the fingers until he lifted both hands to pet them.

He was used to the sensation of the limbs tightening around his legs—it was almost a form of greeting for them both, and he allowed them to explore his body without protest. One of them pressed against the seam of his suit and started pulling—

No questions about what they were asking for there, but they did not give him much room to answer. Both pressed against him, eager. It was all Markus could do to remain standing as Will pushed himself to his back legs, his front ones tugging around Markus’ hips to hold himself closer.

Markus tried to speak, but the words died in his throat at Jo tried to do the same. His balance failed him, and he stumbled a few steps forward, taking the two dogs with him. Will did not relent—gave a few hops, and it was back to business as usual, his hips moving against Markus’ leg.

Jo, on the other side, gave little whimpers, his teeth worrying away at the fabric of his suit in anticipation. He rubbed himself against Markus, but there was a different edge to it—unlike desperate Will, Jo wanted to get Markus undressed first.

Somehow, Markus managed to stumble and fall to the bed. Will yelped as the fall hit him on the side, but Jo was quick to recover. Untangling himself from Markus, he hopped on the bed, pushing his wet nose against Markus’ cheeks, his tentacles tangling around Markus’ limbs to gently flip him on his back.

Will climbed to the bed soon after. He watched as Markus struggled to unzip himself, but as soon as the pesky clothes were out of the way, he was pressing himself against Markus once more.

Jo growled when Will’s eagerness made him flip Markus on his back, causing a startled yelp to slip past Markus’ lips, but a quick look from Markus, and the noise died in his throat. 

“What’s up with you two today?” Markus turned to look at them, but he wasn’t expecting a real answer.

At the sound of his voice, Jo stopped licking his back, and lifted his head, tail wagging. Will paused from where he stood over Markus, and he tilted his head to the side, eyes wide, all fake-innocence.

Jo pushed himself towards Markus’ face once again, trailing licks along Markus’ upper back and wrapping his tentacles along Markus’ shoulders in one of his typical massages. Markus groaned as the warmth spread from his muscles to his back. Will’s tentacles did much the same towards his legs, but they tugged upwards, encouraging Markus to lift his ass to allow the dog room to move.

Will was so eager it took him three tries, but once he entered Markus, he calmed down. He stopped moving, panting all the while to allow Markus time to make himself comfortable. Jo pumped at his length, peering down at his dick in a way that made Markus suspicious.

Will’s thrusts were hasty, and the rhythm was fast, eliciting little groans from Markus’ lips. The tempo changed after the desperate edge wore off, for something that wasn’t as fast, but his thrusts were harder. Markus moaned louder then, and he felt Jo licking at his throat and chin. His breath smelled as it always did—the faint fruity aroma of bananas, of all things.

He felt a tug inside—so sudden that he didn’t expect the quick flash of pain, but just like that, Will was done, and he turned his attention to Markus’ backs, his tentacles slipping from Markus’ legs, eager to replace Jo’s.

Jo moved with more ease, but he was no less excited. He thrust against Markus with such sudden jarring movements, that Markus’ hips rolled forward, and he was nearly pushed from the bed. He _would_ have been if it wasn’t for Will’s quick reaction—his limbs tying around Markus’ front to haul him to a more comfortable position.

Markus’ orgasm came before Jo—and it shook such a loud moan from him that Will flinched next to Markus. Jo’s came a few hurried thrusts later, and when he pulled out, Markus felt a familiar warmth trickling from between his legs and coating his inner thighs.

He sighed wistfully as Jo’s tentacles wrapped around the familiar position to caress and massage him, and the wet nose pressed to his shoulder once more.

Markus turned his head to Will and saw him wagging his tail, eyeing Markus—something wet and pink sticking out from between his legs.

Markus wasn’t altogether sure why he expected it had ended there—but he smiled at Will, allowing the dog to pad towards his bottom again to mount him.


	7. A Time Traveller

The sharp metallic taste of blood flooded my mouth. Under me, I could feel the warm stickiness brushing against my fingertips and seeping into my clothes. As I inhaled, the stench of blood and death was the only thing I could detect. When I opened my eyes it was only to see a world of crimson.

None of that was as overwhelming as the pain. My limbs felt as useless as rubber—my muscles burned with a pain that was beyond words. My ribs ached with bruises—maybe one had splintered, I could no longer tell. It was hard to breath, and my lungs burned with the effort to drag in much-needed oxygen. One of my legs wouldn’t move.

I was dying. I knew that just as surely as I knew that the sun would rise tomorrow, as if nothing had happened. As if all my efforts were worthless. It’d mock me with its warm rays—and I’d be able to do nothing about it.

But those lost—those now long-since dead would never return in this time. If events were allowed to take their course as they were, those would not have a second chance. I couldn’t give up—even if I was dying, even if I wanted to stop and rest, I couldn’t. There was something I had to do—for them, not for me, for them—

Jonah, blood flowing from his mouth as coughs racked his body, his sad eyes turning dull with pain. He inclined his head one last time at me, clutching at his stomach, and smiled.

Will, turning to look at me over his shoulder, the blaze of the fire casting him in bright orange and turning his hair a bright copper, smiled at me. He told me he’d be fine—to let him take care of this one thing. I just had to get myself out of there. Reluctantly, I agreed—thinking he’d be alright, even if my heart gave a squeeze at the mere thought, I ignored it. He’d be alright, I told myself.

He wasn’t.

Damien—grim, ever-present Damien, bullet holes tearing at his skin and clothes, his eyes bright with pain. Even then, his only thought was for our safety. He ushered us away, saying he’d hold on his own. I knew he wouldn’t—I knew he couldn’t—but what else could I do? Liam, Nat, Ryuu, Malin—even Izaac—they were all depending on me. 

His breath was ragged as I bid him farewell, his limbs shook with the effort to stand.

The sweet shy boy Damien had raised—I never heard or even saw his last words, but his name—Indra, ever-loyal, Indra. He had been torn away and torn to shreds. The pale hand had rested over the ground, almost as if it would move at any moment. After that, I could see no more.

Grim and serious Izaac, his eyes narrowed, a mocking smile over his lips. He had made a joke I remembered—in other words, told me I was worried for naught. I didn’t believe him, but I wanted to believe him, so I ignored my better instinct and listened to him. The explosion that came as I ran from the building tore a hopeless scream from my lips.

Liam, just a child still. He was smiling at me, thanking me for coming for him, but I could tell it was much too late—_he_ could tell it was much too late. His small body was broken and tattered beyond repair—and all that blood. How could there be so much blood? He was so small—

And I held him in my arms until he took his last breath.

I never found the others—Ryuu, Nat, Malin. I had no doubt they had shared his fate.

Noah had always been a character—rude, but cheerful in a way that left most people either confused or offended or both. He was the one that told me, with blood staining his clothes, blood flowing freely from the stump where his left leg had been before, and cuts dotting his arms that there was still hope. I had been confused—I didn’t believe him, but he did not listen to me. 

“Ethan,” was all he said, and he sounded so infinitely sad that it dragged tears to my eyes, “find Ethan.”

A key had been thrust to my hands then—a bronze key with sapphire and azure blue jewels and opals encrusted around the handle. The stones seemed to shift with a thousand stars just beneath the surface. It looked almost too unreal, even as it weighed down on my hands.

I had no idea who Ethan was—it took me a day to figure out he had died, while searching any records for his location. A fire—it had been a fire. What did Noah want with this man?

I still didn’t know, a part of me didn’t care—but what Noah had said, what Noah had told me with his wheezing breaths and his blood staining the floor, it all made sense now.

Battered and broken as I was, I dragged myself forward, feeling my arms scream in protest and my body rebel against my cause. My limp leg dragged behind me, tearing whimpers from my throat with every little jostle. Before me, the looming machinery of iron and copper stood, half rusted. Its shape was abstract, but a trace work of symbols decorated the curved pillars that rose from the floor. If looked at from afar, they had resembled a sphere—streamers of metal curling into each other to hold a world within.

From this close up, the effect fell apart however. Now it was merely individual pieces standing out in a could-be shape. In the center of it would be a small key-hole.

The key was clutched in my fist. It had not moved from there ever since they had left—

They.

I could not know if there were still there—could not allow myself to think of it. 

Groaning and wheezing, I dragged myself forward inch by painful inch. At one point, I felt my vision growing blurry and black dots swimming before it and I feared I’d faint before I reached my destination. It had been nothing a swift kick to my broken leg did not fix—even though vile rose to my throat, and my head swam with pain, it kept me awake.

Sleep. I wanted to sleep.

The keyhole stood just inches away now—small and insignificant. If I had not known for what to look I would’ve surely missed it.

Mustering the last of my strengths from a place I didn’t knew existed, I slid the bloody key into the hole. Thrice, my fingers slipped around the slick handle, and I feared I’d succumb to despair and lose all hope when I was already so close. The fourth time, my fingers prized around the handle, and I managed to turn it.

At first nothing happened, and I felt bitter disappointment well up in me. What else had I expected? A miracle? I could almost laugh.

Then the inscriptions on the twisted pieces of metal started glowing a bright electric blue, humming into azure, and melting into sapphire. The floor beneath me started to shake, and it seemed to be, as if the inscriptions jumped and moved. Dust particles and blue fireflies rose from the ground beneath me, surrounding me in that same blue light—an ocean of stars swimming just beneath their surface. My dizziness would abate only to increase the next second—

“What will you do?”

The voice was not familiar to me—it was distant and soft, like a whisper.

I tried to speak, but I could not. My mouth was to dry, and my voice wouldn’t get past a lump in my throat.

I needed to do what Noah—

But I wanted to sleep.

The blue light grew warmer, and I saw something within its depths—

A kindly face that looked vaguely familiar. Did I know him?

It felt warm. I felt tired—infinitely tired.

“I see,” the same unfamiliar voice spoke again.

My vision filled up with that odd blue light, my body tickled with warmth, and I felt my eyelids become heavy, despite the sudden sense of urgency I was feeling—Jonah, Liam, Noah, Will, everyone—

I closed my eyes.


End file.
